


I Just (sort of)

by unfortunate17



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:32:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunate17/pseuds/unfortunate17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Zayn is a successful, famous CEO and Liam is his college, jock boyfriend. (alternatively, the one in which Zayn and Liam are desperately in love).</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Just (sort of)

**Author's Note:**

> fill for a prompt by theycallitbullshit. (and what a fucking amazing prompt)
> 
> WARNINGS: bucket-loads of unashamed fluffy fluffiness that will make you sick.

“Liam,” Zayn hisses sharply, trying and failing to pull his boyfriend back from the animal adoption counter, “we are  _not_ getting a puppy.”

But Liam,  _the little shit_ , smiles pleasantly at the amused looking woman behind the counter, who’s currently eyeing the contrast between Zayn’s sharp dress shirt and Liam’s track pants.  ”Hello,” he says brightly, “me and my boyfriend want to get a dog.”

The woman throws a wink in Zayn’s direction, “Of course. I think we’ve got just the thing for you two. One second.” And she disappears into the back room; smile pulling her mouth and muttering something about  _young love._

Zayn sighs heavily at his side, “Li,” he places a hand on Liam’s shoulder, “we already decided that we weren’t going to do this.”

Liam shoots him a sly glace, “No -  _you_ decided  _that_. I didn’t say anything.”

Zayn tightens his grip, fingers digging into Liam’s collarbone, “I don’t have time for a dog Liam - I’ve got an entire bloody company to run.”

But before Liam can respond, the woman is returning with a white ball of fur that she hands gently over to him. The dog immediately digs its heels into Liam’s forearms and reaches up to nuzzle his throat and Liam ducks his head laughing. From the corner of his eyes he can see Zayn’s torn expression.

“A Siberian Husky,” the woman says proudly, cooing at the dog in Liam’s arms, “and he seems to love your boyfriend, sir.” She tips her head knowingly at Zayn.

Zayn loosens his tie and groans, looking hopelessly in love.

Liam smirks.

“Alright,” he sighs, crumbling, “whatever he wants.” He reaches over to scratch behind the dog’s twitching ears and it wags its tail in response, catching Liam’s cheek in the action. Zayn smiles proudly, sparing Liam, who’s rubbing his cheek with a face, a brief, triumphant glance, “Good boy,” he says amidst Liam’s noise of protest, before turning back to the woman at the counter.

The husky presses its nose into Liam’s cheek, licking playfully at his nose, making him laugh aloud as Zayn tries and fails to listen to the woman’s dog care instructions, eyes finding Liam every other minute and mouth curving slightly. Eventually she shakes her head and hands him a packet, which Zayn folds and buries in his pocket and thanks her embarrassedly for.

They’ve only just reached the car and put the dog in the backseat when Zayn has Liam pressed against the side of the car, gently pulling his head back with a hand buried in his hair.

“You,” he says, a little breathlessly, “I hate you.”

Liam grins at him sheepishly, reaching to fiddle with Zayn’s loosened tie, “That’s too bad, I sort of like you.”

Zayn exhales shakily and any other conversation is lost when he lowers his mouth and kisses Liam hard, hand fisting tighter in his hair, and Liam opens his mouth obediently, eliciting a tortured sound from somewhere in Zayn’s chest.

And Liam can’t help but laugh, making Zayn groan and pull back roughly, fingers pressing possessively into Liam’s sides. He hides his face in Liam’s warm hoodie, “The things you  _do_ to me, Li,” he shudders, voice rough, “I want to - just.”  And Liam smiles softly, all heat gone as he runs a careful hand down Zayn’s back, listening to the Husky bark faintly through the window as he leans back into the car, enjoying Zayn’s presence and sharp cologne and -

_“Zayn!”_

_“Mr. Malik!”_

_“What do you think of the new turn of the stock market?”_

_“Will it affect your company’s profit?”_

and the worst,

_“Is that your boyfriend, sir?”_

Zayn curses sharply and pulls back, pulling open the passenger door for Liam and pushing the boy inside. “Quick,” he mutters, “let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Liam nods hastily and lets himself be manhandled into the passenger seat as Zayn revs the engine from the other side and pulls quickly out of the lot and away from the paps with their big, black cameras and wicked, candy smiles.

They’re a few streets away when the Husky bounds forward into Liam and Zayn jerks the wheel in surprise.

“Careful,” he murmurs, cuddling the dog close and Zayn turns to watch as Liam’s mouth curves upwards, eyes crinkling as he pets the dog. Something lurches in his stomach and he tightens his grip on the wheel.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly, voice choked.

**…………………………………………………………………………………………**

They make it home without any further disaster and Zayn lets the dog free into Liam’s messy apartment (a far cry from Zayn’s own home, kept immaculate by his cleaner) before taking Liam’s arms gently and pushing him against the worn wallpaper of the hallway.

Liam laughs as Zayn mouths at his jaw, “Is something up, Zayn?”

Zayn stops his motions and circles Liam’s waist with his hands, “No,” he admits quietly, “I just. I just really want you  _all the time_.” And god, he feels like a needy teenager in love even though Liam’s younger by nearly five years. Liam’s the teenager that someone manages to claw out the teenager in Zayn. It doesn’t make much sense to him either, really.

But Liam only hums in response, holding Zayn close and Zayn revels in his warmth and his solidity and how he’d never, ever thought he’d find what he was looking for in an eighteen year old college student when he himself was nearly twenty-three and the head of one of the most successful software companies in Britain.

 Zayn burrows closer because he never seems to be able to be  _close enough_   - Liam was nearly addictive with his bright smiles and warm hands and crinkled eyes and Zayn has just never been able to say  _no_ , beginning on that first day.

But Liam pushes him away sharply and he scowls dispassionately, protests already making their way up his throat, to which Liam shushes him, wide eyes on the calendar hanging in the living room.

“Zayn,” he says quickly, sounding panicked, “you’ve got that merger party today.” He glances at the clock; “You’ve got that merger party  _in fifteen minutes_.”

And Zayn shrugs, trying to find a way back into Liam’s grip, but Liam’s having none of it as he bounds straight to his room and Zayn rests his forehead on the wall in frustration from where can hear him rummaging around in the closet and he sighs heavily, making his way to the room.

From the door jam he can see Liam desperately looking for what appears to be a tie to go with the clean, white shirt he’s managed to pull from the depths of his closet. Zayn didn’t even know that Liam  _had_ a shirt (or a tie for that matter) - he just seemed to live in his track uniform. “Liam,” Zayn says quietly.

Liam runs a frazzled hand through his hair, “I swear I’ve no idea how you run that company - you irresponsible  _twat_.”

Zayn’s mouth curves upwards, “Liam.”

“And you’re not dressed - you didn’t even bring clothes to change into for god’s sake. You know my clothes don’t fit right and then the paps have a field day when they - “

Zayn flips the light off, bathing the room in darkness as Liam finally stops talking, breathing hard. Zayn eyes his silhouette quietly, “Liam I’m not going tonight.” He feels Liam pull the switch back on and he’s met with concerned brown eyes in the new light.

“Why not?”

Zayn shrugs, “Don’t feel up to it.”

Liam scrunches his brow, nose crinkling in response and god help him, Zayn is love with him, “You  _never_  go to these things,” he pauses, lowering his voice, “and it makes you look bad in the press, Zayn. Like really, really bad.”

Zayn shrugs again and flicks his head towards the living room, “Was actually going to order some pizza,” his eyes slide over Liam, “maybe catch a film?”

Liam sighs, listening to the faint barking of the dog as it presses into his leg, and Zayn reaches to scoop it up, rubbing cautiously behind its ears as he presses Liam with a hard look, “I’m not going.”

And Liam knows better to argue when Zayn looks like  _that -_ not that he really wants Zayn to go, mind you.

Later, when they’re curled on the couch with the puppy curled on the armchair - that nobody ever uses  - Liam will reach up to toy to Zayn’s hair and softly mutter, “I’m glad you didn’t go.”

Zayn smiles softly, glancing at the empty pizza box on the coffee table and the rerun of The Avengers on the television, and something in his chest constricts. He looks down at Liam who’s got his eyes closed with one of his hands splayed messily across Zayn’s torso and he reaches down to press a palm to Liam’s back, feeling the muscles shift solid and real, “Told you.”

But Liam can sense the underlying softness in his tone.

**…………………………………………………………………………………………**

Very much as predicted, there’s an article on the front page of The Sun about Zayn Malik being a no show to one of the largest business affairs of the year. And Liam feels a pang in his stomach when he reads that  _Zayn Malik, at only twenty-three, has managed to accumulate an ego of one far beyond both his age and his position. We feel that it is vital that Mr. Malik remember that there are men who are far more successful than him who actually bother to show up at important events -_

Liam puts the paper down in frustration, throwing a look back at the bedroom where Zayn is still curled into a ball, eyes heavy with sleep. He wonders whether or not the articles would still be degrading if everyone could see the Zayn that Liam was able to have. But then it makes him wonder whether he actually wants to - because there’s something undeniably special about that Zayn and selfishly, Liam finds himself unwilling to share.

After taking the dog out back in the chilly morning and setting down a bowl of food for it - and Liam knows they really need to name him - he goes back up to wake Zayn.

The room is still somewhat dark because of the closed curtains and Zayn is curled into Liam’s pillow, mouth slightly parted and his hair a shock of color against the white sheets.

Liam swallows back his heart and tries to reconcile this image with what the papers seem to portray. (It doesn’t work.)

“Zayn,” he shakes him lightly, one hand pulling back the covers and the other running through soft, inky strands, “it’s almost ten. Wanna get up?”

Zayn groans and flips over, desperately seeking the blankets that Liam has pulled out of his reach.

Liam laughs under his breath, “Come on, babe. It’s Saturday - let’s go do something.”

But Zayn makes muffled sounds into the pillow and drags Liam down with a surprising amount of strength and somehow manages to pull the blanket over the two of them, “I’ve got an idea,” he yawns.

“We’re not going back to sleep,” Liam snorts but Zayn looks at him, blinking back sleep and Liam swallows tightly because Zayn’s eyes look kind of hazel in this light.

Those eyes trace the movement of his throat and Zayn’s lips quirk upwards into a smirk, “Yes we are.” He traces a line down Liam’s throat before shifting close to press a kiss to soft skin. He buries his face there, content to just disappear, and Liam squirms in surprise. “Night, Li.”

“Zayn -” Liam makes a frustrated noise, but it’s half-hearted really, “It’s nearly  _ten in the morning._ ”

But Zayn doesn’t bother with a reply and Liam sighs, pulling his arms around Zayn’s slender figure, listening to the soft breathing against his neck. But Zayn’s not really asleep - Liam knows because he’s squirming and Zayn normally sleeps like the dead.

Zayn shifts back slightly and he looks completely awake, “Hi.”

Liam smiles, pulse hammering, “Hello.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Stay away from today’s paper.”

And Zayn groans loudly, “ _Fuck_.”

“Fuck is right.” Liam sighs, shifting up on his elbows, “Why don’t you just go, Zayn. It’d save you a hell of a lot of trouble.”

But Zayn shakes his head, “I’d rather just stay here.” he looks out towards the window, “It’s all a bit much, yeah. Sometimes I just wish they’d all just - shut up, you know? And I just have to clear my head and  _you_.”

Liam feels the edges of his cheeks color, “I like having you here too Zayn, but it’s giving off the wrong vibe to everyone else. “

Zayn shrugs a shoulder absentmindedly, “They can go fuck themselves in all honesty. I couldn’t care less.”

Liam looks at him hard because as much as Zayn plays off his nonchalance, Liam knows there’s a part of him that doesn’t particularly like the nasty rumors or the hounding press and that sometimes it gets to him. Those are the times that Liam finds himself with an armful of a shuddering Zayn that refuses to leave his flat - they’re also the times that Liam thanks every god in existence that Zayn works so hard to keep him and his life out of the way of the press and paps.

But Liam doesn’t bring any of this up as he glances back out the door before darting his eyes back at Zayn, “How do you feel about pancakes?”

And Zayn smiles wide, sparkling, and young, “Brilliant.”

**…………………………………………………………………………………………**

They end up at the local park, with it’s creaky swings and rusted see-saw, that evening for a Saturday night picnic under the stars - which according to Zayn was  _cheesy as fuck_  but Liam had seen the look in his eyes and had done nothing but congratulate himself on the idea ever since.

And it’s nice because Zayn throws his head back and lets go and laughs and falls back on the blanket in abandon, sketchbook and football tossed haphazardly to the side with a promise to be used later - because despite the business and numbers and everything, Zayn is still one of the most creative people Liam has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

All this is done while he’s still in dress pants, mind you, and Liam sort of wants to kiss him for it.

He swallows back the last of the pastry and lies back on the blanket, listening to the soothing sounds of Zayn’s graphite pencil and charcoal scratching across the rough paper and eyes the football currently tucked into side of the tree, failing to hide his wide grin.

“What?”

Liam glances up to find Zayn peering at him with an amused look, fingers poised and rubbed with black smudges.

He shrugs, “Nothing.”

Zayn puts his notepad aside and crawls over him, eyes huge in the dying light. He huffs, “You have that look in your eyes, Liam.” He sounds accusatory.

Liam smirks with barely restrained ecstasy because he can remember quite clearly back when his friends and family were stunned into shock when Liam had nervously pulled Zayn through the doorway of his parent’s house, fingers fitting into his. Because their baby boy was with  _Zayn Malik -_ and it was new and unheard of and frightening to the point where Liam’s mum had pulled him into the kitchen to tell him to  _be careful Liam, he’s - he’s so much older sweetheart and - just. Completely not what I expected._

Even Liam had held his breath for the first few weeks almost waiting for Zayn to just up and leave one night with a smirk and a  _it wasn’t anything serious Liam -_ but that breath seems to have left him in a great, gasping  _whoosh._  And he’s never gotten it back since because Zayn looks at him with careful eyes and gentle hands and likes to give him everything he even remotely points out.

Liam swallows tightly, voice slightly throaty, “Wanna play?” he jerks his head to the black and white ball and Zayn frowns down at himself.

“In these clothes?” he asks, voice disapproving as he takes in his nice, suit bottoms.

Liam rolls his eyes in response and swings to his feet, brushing off his track pants as he picks up the ball, “Bet you can’t get the ball off me.”

Zayn’s eyes flash in excitement and challenge, and he raises a sharp eyebrow, “Liam.” His voice is mocking and Liam tires and fails to hide his grin.

“I’m serious - ten pounds you can’t get this off me.”

Zayn smirks wickedly, standing up to brush off his sleek dress pants and pull the tie from around his neck, crumpling it into a ball before shoving it in his pocket, “I can get more than just the ball off you Liam.”

Liam flushes at the heat behind the words, “We’ll see then, won’t we?”

But it turns out, despite the fact that Liam is broader and runs track at uni, Zayn is wickedly quick, nimble, and just a whole lot more athletic than Liam had ever expected. Liam plays with a single-minded determination, focused, running along the well-worn path, while Zayn tends to make clever, quick touches that leave Liam a little dazed and amazed all at once.

Embarrassingly, Zayn gets the ball off of him in less than ten minutes but his hair is windswept and his trousers are dirty and Liam is having a hard time regulating his erratic heartbeat that’s definitely not a result of the exercise.

Zayn grins at him, “Got it.”

“Yeah you did,”

But, Zayn cocks his head at him, inquisitive.  “Got you too,” he says quietly.

Liam’s heart jumpstarts and he stumbles forward, a bit foolishly, into him.

“Already had me,” he mutters softly in response when he’s close enough to bury his face into Zayn’s neck, mouth opening to taste the salty skin under the stiff, shirt collar.

There’s a moment of silence before Zayn finally takes a shuddering breath and pulls back slightly.

“Another go?” he asks, fingers rubbing carefully over Liam’s cheekbones and jaw, feeling them lift into a genuine smile.   
“Why not?”

Zayn shrugs in response and drop kicks the ball as far as it goes, but it ends up being picked up by the light breeze rolling the grass and flies over the slight hill and into the dark bushes nearly fifty feet away.

Zayn groans loudly but Liam nudges him with a smile curling the corners of his mouth, “You kick, you fetch, yeah?”

The resulting glare is withering and Liam bursts into laughter, but nonetheless, Zayn finds himself walking nearly thirty yards to pick up a football for his boyfriend. But as he’s rifling through the bushes in the nearly dark evening, the unmistakable flash of a camera blinds him for a split second.

Zayn freezes.

_“Mr. Malik?”_

The voice is cool and professional and Zayn wants to run because he’d been having a brilliant evening without  _them_. But it’s hardly acceptable for him to just up and leave now, especially if he wants to keep what’s left of his tarnished reputation.

He runs a weary hand down his face, “Yes?”

The reporter steps forward - it’s a woman with smooth dark skin and curling black hair. She smiles slightly, “I’m Konnie from ITV2 News and I was just wondering if you had a few spare minutes, sir?”

Zayn tosses a look back towards Liam who’s now begun to slowly make his way towards them before turning his gaze back to the woman. She did seem polite enough at least so he nods tiredly, “Yes of course.”

She smiles, nervous, “Wonderful. I’ve just a few questions for you really, nothing that’ll take too much of your time…”

**…………………………………………………………………………………………**

Liam wonders for half a minute about what’s holding Zayn up until he spots the crew - two men, one with a camera and the other with a microphone and a young woman - that looks to be interviewing Zayn for a news channel.

Zayn is nodding, serious, smile completely wiped from his face and Liam feels a crack of disappointment that the relaxing day had - in essence -  amounted to nothing - Zayn was once again slipping behind his business mask.

He makes a split decision when he sees Zayn shift the football from hand to hand behind his back and it’s a foolish one, but Liam just really wants to see the cheeky, affectionate smile Zayn saves for him - wants to see the mask shatter, because really, that’d be good for everyone really.

He knows Zayn’s seen him walking over, but he’s wrapped up in some numbers, who’s meanings have been long lost on Liam. And Liam, quite mischievously, makes a grab for his ass, pinching the suit-clad skin just as the camera swings to include him in the picture.

He pulls back in shock because  _what the hell_  - that was never supposed to be caught on film, it was only an effort to loosen up Zayn, but the shit-eating of the reporter tells him that he’s just given them exactly what they’d been looking for.

He sneaks a peek at Zayn, who looks like he’s trying very hard to muster anger, but instead he seems hilariously surprised with that helpless look back when Liam had convinced him to adopt the puppy.

This doesn’t, however, on any account, stop his cheeks from burning painfully. “Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling very rude at having interrupted what had clearly been a serious conversation.

The reporter goes to speak but Zayn beats her to it, curling an arm around Liam’s back and pulling him in close enough to make a clear indication and drops a kiss to his cheek, “‘s ok, Li.” he says, and his voice is tight again, as if he’s holding back emotion, “no problem here.”

He turns to the reporter, hand still firmly pressed into Liam’s back, “Was there anything else you needed…Konnie?”

But Konnie shakes her head, smiling softly, “No. Nothing else.” She nods to the men on either side of her who begin to turn off their equipment and head back towards the exit of the park. “Have a nice evening you two.” She waves and Zayn smiles - her smile only getting wider when Liam waves back at her as well.

They watch her leave in silence.

Zayn turns to him then, quietly assessing him with his eyes and Liam shrinks back, feeling suddenly small and young and reprimanded.

“I really am sorry,” he says mournfully, hands reaching to curl into Zayn’s shirt, “just thought it’d be funny.”

But Zayn shakes head fondly, tucking the football under one arm and Liam under the other, “Come on, let’s go home, yeah.” He smiles devastatingly at Liam and Liam nearly swallows his tongue.

“Hate you,” he mumbles.

 But Zayn only grins, “That’s too bad - I sort of love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> the gif that inspired it all (with the prompt of course):
> 
> http://theycallitbullshit.tumblr.com/post/45003478624/zayn-is-a-young-successful-23-year-old-business
> 
> thanks for reading xx.


End file.
